


Not That Big A Deal

by RacheTanz



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: (its not as big of a deal as it sounds), M/M, Mild Language, Nightmares, Post-nightmare comfort, but it still works trust me pls-, by gays for gays, heyyyy more post-season-3 angst nonsense from me!!! but not as angsty this time, i know this is like the 3rd thing ive written on this same general concept but, i tried to write them more like their comic interpretations, im a sleep-deprived gay let me live--, im so sorry this is the fic to break the perfect 69 works in the tag, it's a lot more lighthearted than the summary suggests, sam is bad at talking about feelings but boy does he try, saying 'I love you' for the first time, so they're more ..abrasive ? than i usually write them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 01:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19263172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacheTanz/pseuds/RacheTanz
Summary: Max wakes Sam up (unintentionally) after a bad storm sets off a terrible nightmare for him.





	Not That Big A Deal

**Author's Note:**

> this was sitting around in my drafts for way too long so i finally polished it up !  
> .....i have so much stuff sitting in drafts unpolished, it's unreal.  
> anyhow. v short vignette from me that i hope y'all enjoy; im gonna write some newer more different things soon, as well.  
> (.....terrible title is terrible)

For once, it wasn’t Sam waking up in the middle of the night, this time. His eyes snap open when he hears a familiar yelp of fright from the bunk above him, followed by a loud, powerful rumble of thunder. Rain slashes at the windows, wind howling, and he feels the bed shake a little as his partner hops down from his bunk, springing into bed with him with absolutely no hesitation. He clearly wasn’t expecting Sam to be awake, as the moment the dog moves he lets out another little shriek, though he recovers quickly.

“What’s wrong, little buddy?” Sam asks, a little groggy. By way of response, Max practically tackles him and it’s at this point that Sam realizes his partner is shivering. As in, full-body-trembling in fright. He’d ask if the lagomorph has seen a ghost if he didn’t already know that ghosts have never bothered him; no, it seems the one thing that _does_ scare him is whatever the hell kind of _Awful_ he went through in his reality, with his version of Sam dying. He sighs but hopes the sadness doesn’t bleed through into it as he sits up a little, wrapping his arms around his little buddy.

“I thought—I saw—It was—” Max splutters haltingly, struggling to put anything into words. He wants to say _I thought I lost you again, I saw you die again, It was so horrible I feel like crying_ , but he has to pick one and yet they’re all trying to come out at once. Nothing’s ever scared him before; he doesn’t know how to deal with it or even begin to comprehend expressing it. But, he’s always been a creature of impulsive emotions and, insensitive as the thought may be, Sam knows he just has to sit and wait and Max will be right as—alright, that saying isn’t quite… appropriate at the moment. Fitting though the sentiment is.

He lifts one paw to rub his partner’s head like he always does, between the ears, sort of kneading Max’s scalp in the way he knows the lagomorph likes. It’s soothing or something. He doesn’t pretend to fully understand the nuances of his partner’s nature. “It’s alright, Max,” he consoles. It doesn’t seem to help given it’s punctuated by a thunderclap that evokes another frightened yelp from Max, who’s practically trying to hide _inside_ Sam’s shirt now—something the dog does not really appreciate. “Damn storm.”

“Make it **stop** , Sam,” Max demands, a little bit like a petulant child.

Sam sighs again. “You know I would if I had that power, pal.” He replies in what he hopes is a reassuring tone, but he’s not sure it is. Either way Max seems to take some kind of solace in it, or maybe he’s just already moving on to the next thing, as he’s starting to calm down a little. Or, at least, he’s not nearly hyperventilating anymore. “I’m sorry. I know it’s awful.” He says sincerely. Much as he’s sure it won’t last long, he really doesn’t like to see his best friend suffering like this.

He feels Max take little fistfuls of his shirt fabric, burying his face in the dog’s chest. “Please don’t ever go anywhere. **Please**.”

It’s somehow heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. In the past, the idea of being apart wasn’t really… concrete. They wouldn’t be separated for long, and it always felt like neither of them could die or even get hurt too badly. Sure there was that debacle on the moon, but that got resolved in the timespan of a half-hour slot for a children’s cartoon. But then this thing happened with its obnoxious sense of permanence and now they’re **both** a little screwed-up at the moment, and, before, Max would’ve never felt the need to say something like that—before, their never being separated would’ve just been implied, understood, natural, but now… Now ending up all alone felt like a real possibility. Looming mortality is never fun to think about. “You know I’ll always take you with me,” he tries to keep it light-hearted but it falls flat when Max just shakes his head vehemently, clutching at his shirt a lot tighter. “Alright, alright, calm **down** , Max.” Sam says gently, shifting a bit to lie down properly, Max lying on top of him. “It was just a nightmare, alright? Everything is okay. I’m okay, you’re okay, and that’s all that matters.” This is all far too dramatic for his liking— _he’s_ usually the melodramatic one of the duo when something bad happens. And he lightens up once it’s not funny anymore.

But Max isn’t playing it as a comedy, which is unsettling enough. He’s playing straight man (speaking in terms of tropes, of course) for once and the role-reversal isn’t pleasant at all. “I **hate** this, Sam.” Max snaps, and now he sounds a lot more like his irritable, temperamental self. He sits up, and Sam lets go of him. Max glares down at him but the anger isn’t directed at him… he thinks. “I used to like storms and then you had to go and die **horribly** in one.”

“I dunno what to tell ya, little buddy. I wasn’t actually there.” He replies with a shrug.

He’d intended for it to lighten the mood but instead Max suddenly looks sad, grip on Sam’s shirt abruptly loosening. “I know.” He says quietly—eerily quiet—staring down at it. He opens his hands, smoothing the shirt out, and Sam glances between the lagomorph’s paws and face, puzzled. “I wasn’t there for you, either.” A weird silence settles where it’s clear from the look on Max’s face that he wants to say something else, something important. That, or he’s about to cough up a hairball. Sam is pretty leery of both considering his little buddy is perched on his stomach right now and clearly not inclined to move. “Sam?”

“...Yeah?” He prompts a bit warily.

Max finally looks at him instead of the shirt and the distress in his beady brown eyes could break hearts worldwide. “Are we too different now?”

Thoroughly lost by this point, Sam starts to ask a clarifying question, “From everyone else, or—”

“From **each other** , I **don’t care** about ‘everyone else.’” Max snaps impatiently.

Sam ponders that for a moment, lifting one hand to his chin. Max stares blankly, waiting, tension rising but he keeps his mouth shut even though he really wants to demand his partner answer him already. Finally after much musing and gear-turning the dog replies, “Nah. I don’t think we are. I don’t think that could **ever** happen, actually.”

Somehow that’s much more of a relief than it sounds, given Sam’s noncommittal, almost bored tone. Max relaxes, abruptly a lot more tired but a lot less worried-looking. “You think so?”

“I don’t feel like we’ve grown apart, at all,” Sam pats him on the head. “Do you?”

He hesitates, thinking for a second. “No.” If anything, they’re closer than before, to be honest, but neither can bring himself to acknowledge it. As if the moment it’s spoken about, it’ll go away in a puff of smoke, and they’ll put up barriers again.

His partner chuckles. “You’re worryin’ too much, Max. And that’s usually **my** job, so cut it out.”

Max giggles, flopping off of him onto the mattress beside him. “Fine, fine, Sam.” He pretends to be annoyed even as he snuggles against his partner. “Thanks.”

“Just shut up and sleep already,” Sam yawns, rolling over to face him.

“Okay.” He shuts his eyes; Sam looks down at him and then scoops the rabbity thing into his arms, to curl around him and close his eyes too. He’s about ready to just settle back down and go to sleep again, having just shut his eyes, when he hears a quiet mumble, “I love you.”

“What?!” Sam jolts, eyes flying open, and stares down at Max, huddled into his chest. The lagomorph has started to snore quietly; clearly he’d let it slip just as he fell unconscious and if it weren’t for the fact that Sam was and is very much awake, he’d wonder if he maybe hallucinated it. But he most definitely didn’t. He shakes his partner, and Max’s eyes snap open again; he’s disoriented for a second but he looks up when Sam blurts, “What’d you say?”

“Huh?” Max blinks drowsily at him like he's grown a second head.

“I—I thought you,” Sam stutters haltingly, “I thought I heard you say you _love_ me.”

Now Max looks kind of annoyed. “Well, I **do** ,” he says in a vaguely irritated tone, like he’s having to explain something obvious.

“You do?” Sam’s jaw drops.

His partner lets out an exaggerated exasperated exhale, fixing the large dog with an are-you-kidding-me? stare. “Of **course** I do, ya doof. Good lord, Sam, did you not _realize_?” He rolls back slightly to look him right in the eye and deadpans, “We’ve spent our _whole lives_ together.”

“I. Uh.” Sam can’t really think of anything to say. He always figured Max didn’t feel that way about anyone or anything other than the concept of injurious violence, so to hear him talk about it so flippantly is… overwhelming, almost. “Pla...tonically?” It’s a summation of the much longer and more specific question he wants to ask but his brain is definitely not working properly.

Max slaps a palm to his own face, then drags it down before flopping it to the bed. “You’re **killin’** me, big guy.” He groans. “Sure, whatever.”

“No, I—” He splutters, “Uh, I lo—love you too.” He has never been good at saying that when he means it and the dead of night after very little sleep is no exception.

But Max cracks a smile and reaches up to pat Sam gently. “That’s nice.” He says sweetly, and then adds in a much less saccharine tone, “Can we go to sleep now?”

“Sure.” Sam answers a bit awkwardly. Pretty much the moment his lips form the ‘S,’ Max rolls forward again to nestle into his partner’s chest, as he had been doing before. Sam stays frozen for a moment, processing, and then realizes that…yeah, that should have been obvious to him by now. He just hadn’t put two and two together yet because he’d never even considered doing so. He quietly draws his arms closer around Max again. “…I love you,” he murmurs quietly.

Max giggles. “You’re gonna be saying that a lot now, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” Sam admits. Truth be told he had been dying to say it for a while.

Max snuggles into him a bit more. “I don’t have the energy to pretend I’d mind that,” he yawns, earning a chuckle from his partner.


End file.
